


By My Side

by OswinWatson



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Also these two are desperately in love, And don't really know how to say it, But they eventually figure it out, I mean, M/M, Wilson has so many ex-wives, dude - Freeform, get a grip, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OswinWatson/pseuds/OswinWatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson and House have been falling in love for 12 years. House insists he's okay with what they have and won't ask for more, but Wilson begins to understand the toll all his wives have had on House. Miscommunication ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	By My Side

**Author's Note:**

> This is short fic, inspired by season 2 episode 6. My sister has been rewatching the whole series and I saw a little part of that episode and my imagination just ran away with it.

 

“I fell in love with my husband’s best friend.”

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face. It wasn't that he disliked Cameron, it's just that she was always so naïve. She was confessing to him that she cheated on her dying husband with his best friend, except for the fact that she never actually had sex with the guy. And now she was sitting there confessing like she’d killed a man and Wilson was left to wonder if he should feel more guilty over all the things he’d done.

“My wife wasn't dying, she wasn't even sick. Everything was fine. I met someone who... made me feel... funny. Good. And I didn't want to let that feeling go,” he paused to look at her, prayed that he was vague enough that she didn't know who he was talking about. Before she thought about it too much, he changed the subject away from himself. “What happened to you, how can anyone go through that alone? You can't control your emotions.”

She probably responded, but Wilson wasn't paying attention. He was thinking of his fifth ex-wife and why it didn't work out. He was picturing soft stubble and rough skin and nights drinking beer and watching monster trucks and falling in love. They had talked about it before, how all the wives made House feel. He said he didn't mind, so long as they could keep what they had, so long as they could keep the witty jokes and spending hours next to each other on their shared balcony and Wilson paying for lunch. And of course Wilson had agreed, he never wanted to give any of that up, he would divorce his wife before he had to, and in fact he had. Ever since the first marriage, House had been the one thing that led to every divorce. Wilson couldn't make him feel angry about it. He always felt like there were things that were meant to be and things that weren’t. His wives, his marriages, he had always known somewhere that none of them would ever last. But House... House was different. Wilson had known from the moment House walked into the police station to bail him out that their relationship would be a very hard one to walk away from.

They’d been falling in love for twelve years, slowly and bit by bit. From the night Wilson first saw House smile, to the night four years ago when they had first gone to bed together, nothing had been simple. Now, things were easier, now they'd come to terms with everything and it made sense. Wilson spent most of his time at House’s because of the divorce, and they almost always woke up in the same bed regardless of what happened the night before. Things were almost domestic, a kiss on the way out the door, a promise to make dinner, an invitation to lunch. Then it was driving the same car to the hospital, consulting on each other’s cases, making out a little in Wilson’s office if they had the time. And when they got home and they weren't too tired, they made dinner and ate it off paper plates in the living room while they watched monster trucks or soap operas and for dessert they would eat Oreos out of the package. As the night went on, they'd drink a little too much beer and slump over each other, heads on shoulders and hands on waists and they'd just want a little more than that. So they'd lay like that on the couch, bodies tangled in a drunken heap and make out beautifully, sloppily, until one of them had then sense to drag the other to bed. Eventually, they'd wake up in the morning, half naked and curled into each other, ready to do it all over again.

So it should have been perfect. House made Wilson feel happy and beautiful and content. He felt at ease around House, like everything he did was as easy as breathing. It should have been simple and glorious, but it wasn't, not quite.

Sometimes Wilson felt like House should be enough, that he shouldn't need to keep marrying new wives when the only person he'd ever really loved was content to let Wilson wake up in his bed every morning. But then he would get an itch, an unscratchable itch that told him he needed to find someone to help. It was the reason he became a doctor, because fixing people made him feel right. And not fixing people would eventually make him feel so terrible that it felt like his guilt would swallow him whole. It was the same with his wives. He had always thought that he'd loved them when he first met them. It wasn't until later, after the divorce that he realized he never loved them, just loved their neediness. It was stupid, but he thrived on the neediness, the ability to feel in control of his life at least in some weird way. And House hadn't minded, or he said he didn't. Because House wasn't needy, he was miserable and a jerk, but he wasn't needy. There was no fixing him, there was one solution, just keep on living, and House didn't need any help figuring that out.

Each time, Wilson thought that he could stop the cycle. He promised himself each time he finished with the divorce that he’d settle back into his relationship with House and that it’d be enough. And it would be, for a while. But it made Wilson’s stomach twist in pain every time he thought about the day he’d have to look at House and tell him he'd found someone else and that he was leaving. Again. Except, Stacy had come back, and now House was intent on winning her back. Wilson said nothing, tried to to encourage and tried not to let his bitterness and jealously seep into his words because if House could deal with him running off to other women for all these years, then Wilson should be able to stand House fantasizing about Stacy. It's not like he’d actually run off with her anyway, right? He tried to tell himself that but every time her name came up it was like someone twisting a knife in his chest. He tried not to care that there was someone House loved more than him, that there was someone else’s bed he'd rather be in. He knew he had no right to say anything after all the times Wilson had done the exact same thing to him, but House had said that he didn't care, that it didn't matter to him. He didn't tell Wilson that watching the only person you love pine after someone else is like dying slowly, a cancer eating up your lungs until you can't get a full breath anymore and then one day you can't breathe at all. House never said that it feels like your stomach is on fire every time she gets talked about, never mentioned that it makes it nearly impossible to get out of bed some days because you're picturing him next to her, and he's looking at you saying it's where he belongs. It makes Wilson want to scream, pull at his hair and fingers and lips until they hurt and bleed. He wants to tell House, tell him everything, but there's no easy way to say “every time you talk about her I feel like I can't breathe, and every time I see you together I feel like I’m falling apart,” after all, there's no good way to say “I love you but this is tearing me to pieces”. It's not just the broken heart that plagues him, but the guilt and the hypocrisy. They weigh on him like anvils. He feels like Sisyphus trying to push it all up the hill but falling just before he reaches the top and it's all crushing him but he has to get back up and do it again and again and again.

So one day he leaves a note, Good luck with Stacy, I'm sorry I couldn't be as strong as you.

It hurts to write it, he doesn't want to wish him luck. He wants Stacy to go back to where she was before she walked in the hospital like it was her right and fucked everything up. He doesn't want to apologize, he wants to scream at House until he runs out of air, wants to ask him “why on earth did you never tell me it hurts this much?” But he can't, he can't because he has no right. Because he's a good person and that's the one thing he won't let go.

So he leaves the note on House’s desk and leaves, takes the stairs two at a time and leaves the building as fast as he can. He gets in his car and drives. He does that for hours, just watches the freeway zip by, racing against the sunset. He makes it to a little beat up motel in Baltimore by nightfall. Maybe he’ll stay and ask for a job here, maybe he’ll keep going. His whole life has been ripped out from under him and he doesn't know what to do anymore so he curls up in his rickety motel bed and laughs. He laughs until he cries and then he does it all again. He keeps doing it and tries his best not to think about House anymore. When sleep takes him, he welcomes it like an old friend.

***

House walked happily back into his office, his team following close behind him. He knew the note on his desk was from Wilson from the moment he saw it. At first he considered waiting to read it until the team had left in case it wasn't exactly appropriate, but that wasn't really Wilson’s style and the team’s curiosity had already been aroused.

He smiled and reached over to pick up the note. He read it, smile falling, and then read it again. He steadied himself on his desk and then fell into his chair, crumpling the note in his fist as he did. Cameron rushed forward, a slight panic in her voice.

“What is it?” She intoned. “House, what is it?”

But he couldn't answer, he didn't know how. What was it? Everything had been fine, more than fine, perfect. And now all of a sudden Wilson was running away? He knew it was about Stacy, he could tell that much. The handwriting was jagged and fierce in the note, it was angry. Wilson didn't mean any of it. He didn't want House to be with Stacy and be wasn't sorry.

There wasn't anything else to be done except go after him. He stood up and barged out of his office, instructing his team not to follow, telling them he might be away for a while, wiping away the tears that should never have formed.

On the way to the car he called Cuddy. “I’m going to be away for a while, I don't know how long. I fucked things up with Wilson and now I have to fix them and I don't know where he’s gone but I have to find him.”

Cuddy was silent for a long time before she quietly suggested that maybe he needed to take some time to think about it and maybe realize this was for the best.

House wanted to scream. “No, you don't understand. I love him, more than anything. I'm not just gonna let him run off without saying goodbye. He does not get to do that.” And then his fists were curling around the steering wheel and his eyes were tearing up and he focused everything he had on the road to keep from crashing.

Cuddy didn't say much else, just “Okay, House. Do what you have to do,” and hung up.

House clenched his jaw and kept on driving, heading for the only place he knew where Wilson might go. Baltimore. Where they met. House thought of the seedy motel they stayed in after House bailed Wilson out. How they had to share a room even though they barely knew each other, how bonded over booze and monster trucks and Oreos. He was shaking now, trying to think about what it might mean for him to lose it all.

He made it there just after midnight, found the motel and limped up to the counter, he had forgotten his cane in his hurry. He slipped the guy at the counter fifty bucks to tell him where Wilson was. When the guy gave him a room number, he sagged with relief.

It took a while for the lights to come on after he knocked at the door, but they did, and the door eventually opened. Wilson stood there, looking like shit but House pulled him into a hug anyway. Wilson didn't try to fight it, just relaxed into him, the familiarity of the gesture overriding everything else. House pecked Wilson on the lips and pushed his way inside.

“We need to talk,” he said and patted the space next to him on the edge of the bed. Wilson sat down where House had instructed him to, and House grabbed Wilson’s hand and held it fiercely.

“Wilson... you can't just leave me without saying goodbye. You don't get to do that. I felt like the world was ending.”

“I know,” Wilson whispered. “I’m sorry.”

House squeezed his hand tighter. “Why did you do it? You owe me an explanation.”

Wilson sighed. “I don't know... you--you were always talking about Stacy. About how you wanted to be with her, and I love you but that was tearing me apart.”

“You could've said something.”

“I didn't feel like I had the right. You never said anything to me when I went through all my wives. I didn't want to be a hypocrite,” Wilson wiped away tears that were forming in his eyes. “Why did you never say anything? It killed me to watch you with her, how did you stand it?”

“Because...” House didn't seem to know how to answer. “Because, I love you. More than anything. And yeah, it killed me to see you with your ex-wives, but it would hurt worse to not see you at all. If I had to choose between being miserable and being miserable but still getting to be the person you came running to when it all fell apart, you know, I’d pick the second one. I thought it was something you needed, I didn't want you to have to choose between me and them. I was afraid of what you'd pick.”

“If you knew how much it hurt, why did you do it with Stacy? Was it revenge?”

House scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked tired. “No, I just thought that you'd find wife number six soon and it'd be time for you to leave me behind. I thought that if I pretended to be into Stacy, you wouldn't feel so guilty about it and I wouldn't feel so heartbroken,” he laughed sadly, “I guess that didn't work out.”

Wilson laughed too, tears in his eyes. “I love you, House, but sometimes you are so dumb.”

Wilson leaned forward and pulled House into a kiss. They fell back onto the bed, relieved and happy.

After twelve years, they finally finished falling in love with each other in the same place they started. In a cheap motel bed, with the knowledge that they'd never need more than each other. 


End file.
